


How to Train Your Dragon

by erikaehm



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dragons, F/M, Gen, I Don't Even Know, I tried to AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikaehm/pseuds/erikaehm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We don’t want your treasure.” Hiccup argued. “But if there’s a dragon that needs training, you can bet all the gold in your mountain that we can handle it. Or kill it. Whichever comes first.”</p><p>(NOTE: I am so sorry I am so late I did not abandon this story. I just finished a course and have been running around trying to do legal paperwork. I promise you a chapter by Sunday, and then back to the regular schedule. Forgive me)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Den of the Red Death

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all. I’ll be updating this fanfic once a week – probably every Wednesday considering as I started today. I’m a bit nervous about posting this one, so I hope you all end up enjoying it. Thanks for reading!

_Prologue_

_The Den of the Red Death_

“Hiccup.” Astrid murmured as her eyes darted around nervously. “This isn’t the same way we came in.” Her voice was kept particularly quiet to avoid being overheard by their nosy friends. “This doesn’t even look like the island.” She added, and he watched her squint to try and see past the slew of trees sprawled before them.

 

He swallowed thickly, mind instantly rushing for logic. “Maybe we took a wrong turn.” He offered. “Or maybe we just came out the back...”

 

“You and I _both_ know that the island didn’t have this many trees. Plus, whatever was left there was mostly...dead or scorched.” From the battle against the massive dragon that had taken Hiccup’s leg, so long ago. “There was that _light_.”

 

They’d only gone back to Dragon Island to explore outside of mating season, when they could enter the caves without new parents attacking. Their team – the same team they’d always had – had returned to the island to slink through the bee hive network found within, searching out the hole where the Red Death had lived, feeding off the other dragons catches. They had each used their own dragons to get to the bottom, horrified at the depth but not surprised. There had been a few terrors who had trailed along, eager little things, but Hiccup had ignored them in favor of pacing the cavern where once a monstrous beast laid its body.

 

There had been runes inside that cave, written in a language not even Fishlegs had been able to read. Wearily, Hiccup had brushed his hands across them. They had glowed blue, brilliantly so, and then the world had gone dark.

 

They had woken to dust in their lungs, each of them hacking; yet they hadn’t been inside a hole anymore. They had found themselves in a simple cave where light had filtered through a small opening.

 

He tossed a glance over his shoulder to check on the others. They were busy at work trying to make the opening larger so the bigger dragons could get through. Only Stormfly, Toothless, and the terrors had been able to follow them out. Toothless was clawing at the rock face from the outside while the bulkier Meatlug smashed her tail against them from the inside.

 

The twins were helping to pull out the smaller, easily moved rocks while Snotlout sat watching and Fishlegs talked Meatlug through the motions.

 

It was a relief to see everyone unscathed and working together, and the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders since he first awoke eased away. “What you’re suggesting is physically impossible. Magic?”

 

“Wasn’t ten years ago when we both thought that Vikings living peacefully amongst dragons was impossible.” Astrid pointed out, shrewdly. He eyed his wife with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Leave it to Astrid to shove his own teachings back into his face.

 

“Nine years.” He replied offhandedly. “And four months, since I met him.”

 

“I know. I keep count too. Hiccup...”

 

“We’ve been in bad situations before, more than our fair share. We already checked the caves and the runes we saw aren’t inside this one and we didn’t have any way of reading them anyway. We’ve survived worse, Astrid. We’re _Vikings_. It’ll be okay.” He butted his head against hers in a sign of affection. “We’ll get through this just like we get through everything else.”

 

“This isn’t a bad growing season or a heavy snowfall Hiccup. This is...unexplainable.”

 

“Things happen for a reason.” He cupped her cheek. “We’ll get through this. I promise you.”

 

She smiled. “And you always keep your promises.”

 

“I do. Think you can help me carry that log over? We might be able to use it as a lever to move the rocks out of the way.” Together they jogged over to scoop up the dead tree. It was Stormfly who dropped on top of it once in place over Toothless’ back, using his weight to help.

 

The rocks came crashing down in a flurry of noise and dust, one clashing loudly over Ruffnut’s helmet much to her brother’s amusement. Still, they were relieved when the rest of the dragons were finally freed.

 

“We’ll stick to the ground.” Hiccup cautioned. “We don’t know what’s out here yet, so it’s safer to stay hidden for now.”

 

“Have you seen this lot?” Astrid asked amusedly as she swung up into Stormfly’s saddle, the Nadder merrily bobbing along toward the tree line. “I don’t see them doing quiet, or hidden.”

 

“We have to try.” Hiccup shrugged at her. Everyone was listening to him attentively for once, and he realized just how shaken they all were. “We’ll see if we can find somewhere with water then make camp.” He suggested, for once thanking Gobber’s horrible survival training classes that had, in fact, taught them how to fend for themselves in their youth. “Stick close and try to keep quiet unless absolutely necessary. That means life or death, nothing else.” He stooped to pick up two of their five Terrors, letting the small creatures make themselves comfortable on his shoulders. One of the others settled into Tuffnut’s upturned helmet, the other two making their home atop Meatlug.

 

Content with the fact that together, they had never failed, Hiccup took to walking alongside Toothless. He brought up the lead of their expedition while Astrid fell into the back. She was a skilled warrior, even if not the strongest – that title went to Fishlegs for all that he hated fighting – but her place as his wife, as the female leader of _their_ clan was behind their people, supporting them every step of the way.

 

It fell to Hiccup to be the light to guide their way. A heavy burden but one that the Haddock’s had carried for years.

 

As he walked, he mused, one arm curled across the back of his best friend’s neck.

 

As the children of Berk grew and the dragon population had sky rocketed, Hiccup knew they wouldn’t be able to support everyone for long. There had been a few hard winters where starvation was a possibility – too many mouths to feed and yet too short a growing season to feed them all. The wild boars and other such creatures that inhabited their woods had been hunted to near extinction, to the point where he’d convinced his father to start catching and breeding wild hogs like sheep.

 

It had only created more mouths, for pigs ate much.

 

Their land had started to become almost barren. There was a bone-deep sadness in everyone’s eyes as they all wondered who would slip to death in the quiet of the night.

 

Hiccup though, he was a thinker. There were other islands not overly far from Berk, although too treacherous for any ship to get through – the seas there littered with the vessels of Vikings who’d failed before them. He had pleaded his case to his father.

_Let me go. Let me take **my** team and whoever else is willing to come and let us go. I’ll write, I’ll visit, but we can’t all stay here. We’ll take dragons with us instead of ships, dad. I know you think I’m too young but I’m of age now. I’m married. I have my own home. Don’t sacrifice us all to death because you can’t stand to see me go. You know I’m right. I’ve been right before, dad. Do I need to prove anything else to you? Please. Please trust me._

His father had let him go with one third of the village at his back.

 

It had been hard at first. Lodgings couldn’t be built overnight and they’d slept out in tents, the only warmth from small fires and the feel of dragon scales surrounding them.

 

It had taken two years to build what they had now; a proper working Viking village, complete with grazing pasture for livestock, groaning ships docks where they’d managed to clear paths on the ocean floor, and massive catapults to ward off attack. He’d visited his father in the years since their new home had been created but found that he sort of liked being in charge of his own village.

 

It was in his blood after all.

 

“If I can’t get us home.” He told Toothless, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “I’ll make us a new one. How’s that sound, buddy?” He let his nails dig gently into warm scales, smiling at the rumble-purr that left the black dragon’s chest. “Yeah. We’re gonna be okay, aren’t we?”

 

Toothless turned gold-green eyes to his friend, a smile dancing within them. The beast nodded slowly and Hiccup could see the message there; it didn’t matter where they were. They were together, so they would be okay.

 

OoOoO

 

They found water in the form of a crystal clear, bubbling stream not quite big enough to be a river. Fishlegs tested it before deeming it drinkable, and they all binged until their stomachs sloshed uncomfortably. “We’ll need to do something about food.” Hiccup worried to Fishlegs as they made a sweep around their camp – a very tiny clearing. The tree tops were thick enough to shield out the setting sun, and he hoped they were thick enough to keep out rain, should the sky decide to open up. They were all sticky with sweat, their heavy winter furs and the chain mail they wore beneath having proved unsuitable for this climate, as it was much warmer.

 

“We can worry about it tomorrow. I’m hungry too, but we’re all exhausted right now. If we ask the dragons to go out and fetch food, you know we’ll only get regurgitated fish heads...or something worse.” Fishlegs pulled a face. “I brought rope though, in Meatlug’s saddle.” Good old Fishlegs, always thinking of the improbable. “We can try to rig a net, set it up in the stream. Maybe there’s some fish or something.”

 

“Give it to Tuff and Ruff; they’re the best knotters we have.” Hiccup nodded. “You go do that, I’m going to make sure there isn’t anything lurking. Toothless!” The dragon bounded to his companion as Fishlegs shuffled into camp. Together, they prowled the parameter of camp.

 

Nothing. Not a bird, not a rabbit, not a peep. Absolutely silent.

 

Feeling dread in his gut, they returned. He set up a watch – Tuff and Ruff first, for they always had a hard time falling asleep – and after checking to ensure their mediocre fish trap was in place, he settled beside Astrid to sleep. Toothless curled close at their backs while Stormfly took to the trees.

 

He fell into a fitful sleep beneath a sky that wasn’t his, worried thoughts turning into bad dreams that haunted him even though he wasn’t awake.

 

OoOoO

 

Bilbo felt a wave of apprehension roll over him. “Oh no. No, no, no. The last time you dolts sent me towards a flickering light I happened upon three trolls, and almost got the lot of us killed. I’ll not be heading towards anymore, thank you _very much_. We are to tell Thorin at once, do you understand me?” He scolded at Fili and Kili, who were holding one of his arms each.

 

His protests died as they – embarrassingly easily, he might add – used the grip on his arms to hoist him off his feet and carry him through the underbrush. He could scream for Thorin or Gandalf that much was true. Yet if he did, it would most certainly alert whomever the fire belonged to that there were strangers amongst them. “I’m going to kill you both.” He hissed instead, kicking his legs out in an effort to get a grip on something, anything.

 

“No you won’t.” Fili murmured.

 

“We’re just going to take a peek. If it’s nothing dangerous, we leave it alone. If it is dangerous, we tell Thorin.” Kili added.

 

“It’s perfectly safe, Bilbo.”

 

He cursed the day he’d told them to stop calling him _Mister Baggins_ which had been just as they were leaving the rock, where the eagles had dropped them. Only a half a day ago and he was already regretting it.

 

He was really beginning to hate Dwarves.

 

When the makeshift campsite came into view, he honestly had no idea what he was seeing. They were...people, of a sort. They looked like Men but appeared around the same size as the Dwarves – not especially tall, but a fair bit bigger than a Hobbit. There were six in total, although only two were awake.

 

They were related, that much was obvious. They sat back to back on a short rock and the male of the pair had a shield in his lap, fingers drumming out an absent beat on the worn metal. The female – only known as such for the breasts she clearly had, hugged tight by a corset like top – was steadily sharpening a wicked looking battle ax. If he were to guess, he’d place them as looking to be around Fili’s age.

 

They had sun kissed skin and golden hair – the male had his hanging in thick, matted lines across his back. The female had a braid hanging over both shoulders, tied in a way that they looked almost like weapons, and there were two smaller ones near her temples that stood on end. There were feathers and beads on both, and the male sported a close-shaved beard, similar to Kili. His shoulders were broad, what they could see of his arms strong. His sister was slimmer but they could see the tell-tale definition of muscle on her as well.

 

“I hardly think they’re a threat. Probably just travelers.” He whispered to his own companions. He felt ridiculous, spying on a camp of...whatever it is these people were.

 

Until he heard a rasping inhale. His gaze slid past the siblings on the rock to beyond them, where a two headed beast lay...only no. It was not a beast. One of the heads lifted into the air and as the jaw opened in a yawn something akin to lightening gurgled from its throat.

 

“ _Dragon._ ” Fili breathed out as though the word had been punched from him.

 

Bilbo had to agree. It was a dragon – he knew it, and they knew it, despite none of them ever having laid eyes on a real one before. A dragon, smaller than the one they were off to kill but most likely similar if the mouth, wings and scales were any indication. Which he believed they _were_.

 

“We need to go get Thorin.” Kili whispered.

 

For once, Bilbo agreed.

 

Their camp was still alive, supper only just finishing up. “Uncle.” Fili blurted, coming to a sharp halt in front of Thorin who peered up from his bowl with a cocked eyebrow. “We followed lights, and came across a camp. There are strange creatures there. They look like men but they are only our size.”

 

“None of that matters –“ Bilbo snapped, shoving at Fili’s shoulder.

 

“There are dragons, uncle. At least one, as far as we saw.” And they really should have taken a closer look, _stupid_.  “It’s horrible, two headed, disgusting.” Kili gasped out. “We didn’t stick around to see if there were others, but there are dragons. I know we haven’t seen any in person but –“

 

“They were definitely dragons.” Fili finished, eyes darting across his uncles face. “What will you have us do?”

 

Thorin was out of his seat, bowl cast to the side. “I will have us all bear arms and take to battle with this new enemy.” He said grimly as one hand fell to his sword. Around him his Company and one Wizard raised as well, meals forgotten. “Show us the way.”

 

_Dragons_ , he thought, _will need to be destroyed. They cannot be left alive to wreak upon others was they have brought upon my kin._ It was a sound justification in his mind; in the mind of his companions as well, he was certain. _What if they’re being summoned to Smaug?_

 

Traveling with their Hobbit had taught them the art of stealth. They formed a semi-circle of soldiers as they watched the now-dosing dragon, both heads deep in sleep.

 

The male of the pair appeared to be falling asleep, head dipping down to his chest. The female had her head leaned back against his, her eyes focused on the stars in a dream-like wonder. Thorin wondered if they’d been enslaved by the beast, if perhaps their weapons were more for show than use. Surely as a pair they could slay a sleeping dragon? No one would be foolish enough to befriend the vicious creatures.

 

He felt Dwalin tense beside him, ax at the ready. It had been decided that the hardened warrior would be the first to go in – he’d requested it. He caught Dwalin’s eye out of the corner of his own and silently he nodded.

 

The warrior lunged from the underbrush with a battle cry so loud it startled the male back to awareness. The dragon’s eyes opened; it looked confused, brain sleep added. The ax swung downwards in a deadly arc, certain to meet its mark and behead at least one of the two skulking, horrible faces and –

 

_Twang_

 

The male’s ax clashed into Dwalin’s, the vibration reverberating through the small clearing and obviously shaking both of them. Dwalin was surprised enough to stumble backwards as the female screamed _Hiccup_ in a rasping, whiskey-rich voice. Her ax came flying at Dwalin quick enough that he only just barely managed to block.

 

The siblings fought as one, shoving him backwards as they took a stand before the beast who had finally found its feet. An awful green smoke cloud billowed from one mouth, the smell absolutely noxious as the cloud floated to the ground, brushing near their feet.

 

The rest of the Company descended upon them.

 

“Barf!” The female shrieked.

 

“Belch!” The male added.

 

“ _No! Idiots!_ They’ll set fire to the whole clearing!” The new comer was a very, very large fellow – quite possibly larger than Bombur. He held a mace in his hand and he grabbed onto one of the dragon heads, pulling it close to him. “Tell them to stop you guys! You’ll blow us all up!”

 

The siblings shared a glance before the male grabbed the free head. His fingers scraped against the underside of its chin and the dragon...collapsed.

 

It seemed almost boneless, one half of the body falling limp against the grass, eyes rolled into its head. The other side followed soon after.

 

“Drop your weapons and back away.” The female growled finally, swinging her ax at them again.

 

Thorin raised his eyebrows. “It’s three against an entire Company, girl. You put your weapon down and step aside so we may slay this cursed beast that has obviously bewitched you.”

 

“Over my dead body.” She spat.

 

“A Company? We’ve got _dragons_ , nimrod.” The male added.

 

“Uh, guys I don’t think –“

 

“Shut up Fishlegs.” They said as one, before sneering at each other. He had moved to stand at his sister’s side.

 

“I don’t know how you _do things_ around here –“

 

“-but you are _not_ touching our dragons.”

 

“Both of you _stop it_.” A new voice added. This one belonged to a female.

 

She was...pretty, in an odd way. Entirely beardless, for certain. Her legs were encased in brown leather, feet covered in thick leather and fur boots. Her skirt appeared to be made from metal, linked in a way that reminded Thorin of his grandfather, Thror. The belt around her waist made a clinking noise as she moved and they noted the small skulls hanging from it, from various creatures, it would appear. The shirt she wore was brown; the leather laces at the throat of it undone. It clearly wasn’t hers, for it was much too large in the shoulders. It hung off them at either side, revealing cream colored underclothes. There was a very dainty, very discreet crown settled around her blond head. It was silver much like the rest of her adornments – cuffs on her ears – and a pretty little sapphire laid in its centre, highlighting her eyes.

 

“It’s obvious.” She started, hands held peacefully outwards, “That there’s been a misunderstanding here. No one is going to be killing anyone. What we’re going to do is take a _deep breath_ and talk about this like _adults_ , which it seems we all are.” Both of her brows were raised as she crept ever forward. “How does that sound? Good? Everybody is good?” She spoke as though she was talking to a small child, or a beaten dog.

 

It irritated Thorin.

 

“They started it.” The male grunted.

 

“Yeah.” The female added.

 

The new girl rolled her eyes upwards, mouthing a prayer.

 

“Enough of this.” Thorin decided as he pushed past Dwalin, who let him. “You will _step aside_ this instant!” His voice had risen to an obvious bellow, and he grabbed the crowed woman by the arm to shove her out of his way. They clearly didn’t know what they were doing; his duty was to his people, but he couldn’t allow another to fall under the control of a dragon.

 

Only his grip slipped as a black scaled monster dropped from above, silent as a shadow and dangerous as death. He hit the ground hard, sword tumbling from his grasp as the beast used its clawed front legs to pin his arms to the ground. The mouth parted, teeth glinting in the faint light as its mouth began to _hiss_ , and the smell of smoke filling his nose as a glow began, purple-tinged.

 

To die by a dragon’s fire in the middle of the woods was a dishonorable way to die, indeed. He was reminded of the white Warg who had bowled him over just as easily, chest aching.

 

“Toothless, no!” Yet another new one. Leather and metal clad fingers dipped daringly into the corner of the monsters mouth. “Get off of him, come on buddy back it up.”

 

The slitted eyes widened to almost comical innocence as the beast stepped back off of him. It sat, tall as Gandalf, on its rump. The tail swished lazily.

 

The woman he’d grabbed was being held back by the siblings, one arm wielding a sword; the other held a battle ax. “Son of a _hack troll_.”

 

“Hey you okay? He didn’t hurt you did he?” A hand reached tentatively out to help him up. The face belonging to the body was sincere. He had hair similar in color to the Ri brothers, shaggy around his face and falling to almost his shoulders. His eyes were bright and concerned. Thorin shook his head and allowed himself to be helped to his feet, the warg wounds still lightly aching.

 

Once standing, a knuckle duster clad fist slammed horribly against his cheek. The redhead shook his hand out. “Sorry.” He apologized. “But that was for grabbing my wife.”

 

“That beast is not toothless. And I cannot allow them to live. Where there are dragons there is only destruction to follow.” Thorin rubbed a hand over his jaw, forcing the pain of it from his mind. _Can we kill them still? We’ll have to remove these people_. The warrior in him began formulating a plan.

 

The redhead made a sympathetic noise. “I understand. I really do. I’m Hiccup by the way. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock. The third.” He held out a hand for a shake. Thorin indulged him, hoping that perhaps he could make these _fools_ see reason.

 

“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. King under the Mountain.” He said in kind. “At your service.”

 

“My...? Oh. At yours.” Hiccup released him. “This is my wife, Astrid. My close friend Fishlegs, my comrades Ruffnut and Tuffnut and my cousin...” He trailed off. “Wait.” He twisted and the creaking noise made all their eyes trail downwards. He had a false leg, oddly shaped and metal. “Snotlout? Guys, where are Snotlout and Hookfang?” He cried.

 

“Don’t look at me! Tuffnut was keeping watch on that side!” Ruffnut cried.

 

“Hey! Way to be a sell-out.”

 

“Both of you _enough_!” Astrid shouted. Her battle ax waved above their heads, and they both ducked further away from her. “Hiccup, why, in the name of Freya would Snotlout leave camp?”

 

“Better question is how far did he _go_? If he heard all the screaming Thor knows he’d have been here swinging his hammer.” Fishlegs said, sounding worried. “How did he sneak himself and Hookfang out?”

 

Astrid’s lips pressed into a thin line as she turned to her husband. “Think you can keep this under control?” He nodded. “I’m going out to find Snotlout with Stormfly. You’re the negotiator, you stay here.” She pressed a finger over his mouth to shut off any of his protests, before stealing a quick kiss. “I’ll be okay. Trust me. Trust Stormfly.” They butted heads gently and then she whistled.

 

The blue and gold beast looked like a bird as it bobbed its way to them. She swung up into the saddle with her weapons strapped once more to her body. With another low whistle from the woman the dragon’s wings spread. Two long flaps and it was airborne.

 

Hiccup watched her go. “Why don’t we all sit down and have a nice discussion about our respective reasoning’s on how to deal with dragons.” He cast Thorin and Company a soft smile. “Tuff, Ruff, can you guys go check the traps? See if we caught anything yet. Take BB with you.” He jerked his chin towards the dragon. “’Legs, with me. Keep Meatlug lose.”

 

Meatlug turned out to be a grotesquely fat dragon, with large lumps all over her body. She was curled into a burnt patch of grass, watching them all with half lidded eyes. Fishlegs rubbed between her eyes and patted her snout as he took a seat in front of her, using his body to shield hers.

 

Ori let out an undignified yelp as one of the Terrors – deep purple along its back – scampered by his feet.

 

“Just ignore them.” Hiccup suggested as he leaned heavily on Toothless. A Terror clambered up to sit in his lap, and his hand set to stroking its small head adoringly. “Since you seem bent on killing my friends, I’ll let you go first.” He told Thorin; his lips were pulled into an almost playful smile.

 

If they understood, they’d be more willing to listen. The only way to get them to see reason was to repeat their tale.

 

Thorin let Balin explain the fall of Erebor to the Great and Terrible Smaug. The strange dragon-friends listened with rapt attention, the siblings having returned halfway through the telling, fishless. “Here we do not befriend dragons. We kill them, for they bring only destruction in their wake.” The greying man intoned gravely, before explaining to them all that they were _Dwarves_ , that Bilbo was a _Hobbit_ – Ruffnut seemed enthralled with his pointed ears and hairy feet – and that Gandalf was a _Wizard_.

 

“I thought Dwarves were those things that stole Gobber’s underpants.” Tuffnut muttered, unfortunately loud enough for the present company to hear, and become offended by.

 

Fishlegs rushed to rectify the situation. “Those are Gnomes, Tuff, not Dwarves.”

 

“Oh, right.”

 

“She’s been gone a while.” Ruffnut was finally pulled from her overly friendly inspection of Bilbo by her own thoughts.

 

“You may seek her once your tale is told.” Thorin said icily.

 

It fell to Fishlegs to explain _their_ story. He spoke of the Red Death and the Boneknapper. He stumbled as he explained the heroic way Toothless had saved Hiccup, how they relied on one another to survive now. He spoke at length of how dragons had become the Vikings strongest ally, of their famine and rebirth. Finally at the end, he spoke to Gandalf of the mystic runes in the dragon cave.

 

“I fear I’ve never heard of such a thing.” The old Wizard said voice carefully blank.

 

Hiccup hummed noncommittally before he stood. “I figured as much.” He tossed them a carefree smile. “It’s okay though. We’ll find a way home. After we get _your_ home back.” He jabbed a finger at Thorin, who couldn’t hide the look of surprise.

 

“I will not take you into my Company. Our treasure is already-“

 

“We don’t want your treasure.” Hiccup argued. “But if there’s a dragon that needs training, you can bet all the gold in your mountain that we can handle it. Or kill it. Whichever comes first.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and for the first time since they’d met him, he seemed kingly – which, they supposed, he was. He called himself Leader but King was the word used in Middle Earth. “We’ll train your dragon or he’ll go the way of the Red Death, and then we’ll find our way home. But until then if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find my wife and cousin.” He scooped a helmet off the ground and set it upon his head. “Come on Toothless, let’s go find the others.”

 

The rest of the Viking moved to follow, dragons at their sides. Thorin’s mind was made up quickly; he would be a fool to let these strangers and their evil companions stray too far. “We will come with you.” He growled.

 

As a group they marched as one.

 

OoOoO

 

They found the others near an overhanging of rock. Snotlout was crouched low beside Astrid who was stretched on her stomach, peering over the ledge as subtly as she could. Their dragons were sitting together near the tree line, Hookfang chewing at a claw and Stormfly grooming his scales. Hiccup patted both dragons on the head before dropping down and _crawling_ to the overhang. “What is it?” He whispered.

 

The rest of them realized something was wrong. The siblings – twins, Ori had found out – shifted nervously and exchanged glances, hands falling to their weapons.

 

It was Gandalf who approached the Vikings to take a peek before forcing them all into a hasty retreat from the overhang. “Goblins.” He told Thorin. “They must have come down from the mountains, following our trail.”

 

“Goblins? They’re a lot bigger than our Goblins.” Snotlout rubbed the back of his head, and then scratched a hand through his thick black beard.

 

“Those are hob-Goblins.” Fishlegs replied.

 

“Bookworm.” Snot said it like it was an insult.

 

Hiccup _growled_. “And it’s saved your sorry hide more than once, ‘Lout. Be nice or I’m taking Hookfang and leaving you here by yourself. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than fighting with each other.”

 

“Plus,” Ruffnut added, sounding oddly sedate. “We all know if ‘Legs wanted to he could wipe this forest floor with your arse.”

 

Snotlout’s face turned a furious shade of red as he sucked in a breath to yell at her. Two hands slapped over his mouth – Astrid and Hiccup.

 

“What –“

 

“About – “

 

“Goblins –“

 

“Do you _not_ -“

 

“Understand?” Astrid finished. She grimaced in distaste and jerked her hand away as Snotlout slathered it in spit. Hiccup didn’t pull away, simply glared harder and knocked a fist lightly against his cousin’s helmetless head.

 

“They’ll be hot on our trail as soon as they catch our scent.” Gandalf said finally, watching the Vikings with a mixture of amusement and horror. “We must make haste to leave this place.”

 

“An enemy at your back is an enemy with a chance.” Astrid said. Her voice and her eyes were like ice, staring at the jagged overhang of rock. “You can run if you want but they’ll always be five steps behind you. If you kill them now, they’ll be gone forever. That’s up to you, though.” Her hand reached around to the ax strapped to her back.

 

Hiccup eyed her. “There can’t be more than fifty.” He mused aloud. “We should be able to take them.”

 

“Does this mean I finally get to smash things?” Ruffnut sounded eager as she tipped her helmet back a bit so she could see. “I miss smashing things.”

 

Hiccup grinned to himself as his dragon sidled up to him. In a flash, he was mounted. “Let’s make quick work of this, guys. Try not to set the entire forest on fire, okay? Aim straight, and aim true. If you have to get into close range combat, do it. Remember we only have a limited amount of shots before we’re out of ammo. Astrid, there’s archers down there – you and Stormfly head to them. Shoot them down as fast as you can. Fishlegs, go with Astrid. Meatlug should be thick enough that the arrows can’t hurt her. Ruff, Tuff, run as distraction – keep their eyes on you. Snotlout, if you can, get off of Hookfang and let her do her thing. You know what I’m talking about. Terrors, go for the throat. Toothless.” His hand stroked down a sleek black neck as he leaned forward, preparing himself. “Let’s fly.”


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thanks for reading and thanks for the amazing feedback on the prologue! I hope you continue to enjoy! See you next Wednesday.

_Chapter One_

_Something Wicked This Way Comes_

Thorin was used to half arsed plans being tossed together without a care. He was also used to quickly and effectively rebuking said plans and setting everything right – these _Vikings_ , as they called themselves, gave him no room for argument. Before he could take his first, angry breath, Hiccup and his beast were airborne in a gust of wind that had everyone’s hair and clothing shifting about them. He watched in awe as the mechanism that united foot and tail fin _clicked_ perfectly, as smooth and organised as any Dwarvish tool.

 

There was a twist in their flight before the black dragon simply disappeared from sight completely.

 

The twins apparently took their job to heart. It wasn’t but a second after Hiccup had taken to the breeze that they were mounted as well. Battle axes clanged horribly against their shields as their two headed dragon fell over the rock ledge, spewing green smoke into a cluster of Goblins. The other head spat something akin to lightening and the Goblins screamed as their flesh was set aflame. They were making a spectacle of themselves and they had, with that one simple movement, caught the attention of the entire Goblin hoard.

 

Thorin could do little more but move to the overhang and stare down into the fray. He was aware of Dwalin at his left and of Astrid on her dragon to his right. The blue-gold creature bellowed before it too joined the battle. His eyes tracked it as the tail whipped furiously, the spikes that had once adorned it breaking clear of the flesh to imbed themselves in Goblins. They broke easily through the armor and any archer that was willing to venture close enough was struck down by a poorly crafted – yet still sharp – Viking blade to the throat. A particularly large Goblin was leapt upon by the dragon, its massive taloned feet rending through armor, flesh and bone as though a knife through hot butter.

 

The Gronkle, Meatlug, proved impenetrable by the poorly crafted Goblin arrows. Her gaping jaw cracked through all obstacles as her hammer-wielding rider crushed skulls under his grip, shield and dragon the only thing between him and the vicious blows of Goblins. The Dwarrow, Hobbit and Wizard watched in awe as Fishlegs gave his back to his beast in a gesture of trust so completely thoughtless, a gesture shared rarely even amongst Dwarven shield brothers. They fought like that, tail to back, Goblin after Goblin succumbing to their joint strength.

 

“What is he _doing_?” Bilbo breathed, sounding every bit as horrified as everyone else felt. They turned their attention to Snotlout and away from the gaggle of Terrors that were steadily, stealthily ripping apart unprotected skin with their sharp little teeth.

 

He had dismounted and was almost entirely overwhelmed by Goblins. They leapt at him again and again, his ax not doing much against their armor when there were so many of them clamouring at him. His expression was intense under the thick black beard, brows drawn down heavily as he swung wildly with vicious precision that was getting him nowhere. It wasn’t until he was being forced back, closer to the tree line that he finally screamed out one word, and one word alone.

 

 _Hookfang_.

 

The horrible creature he called _his_ slid from the dark like a nightmare. Her eyes glowed in the fading fire of the Zippleback’s green toxins and they each gaped as the flames began to escape her mouth. They crawled over her snout, her eyes, her head, until her entire body was lit. She was glorious. Magnificent.

 

She was terrifying as she barreled full tilt from the woods intent as any monster going for the kill. Goblins fell under her horribly clawed feet, their armor melting to their skin under the heat of her flame, hot as any Dwarven forge. She crushed everything in her path as screeching, bellowing roars lifted high from her throat and Thorin’s blood ran cold when he realized the beast was enjoying it; she was getting some sort of _pleasure_ from the death she brought. His head swam with the smell of burning flesh and his mind faded to a time long ago.

 

_Door crushing, people screaming, crunch of bone, of metal, smell of smoke, burning, heat, screeching, ringing in his ears, Balin under his arm, crying, limping, watching his people scatter like ants under a sadistic child’s watch, the sound of –_

He was pulled back to the present abruptly by a sharp whistling noise, akin to an arrow snapping through the air. There was a brief flash of purple followed by the sound of an explosion – below them, a cluster of ten or so Goblins became a puddle of _nothing_ , nothing but dust as they were essentially disintegrated, burnt to the ground. In the leftover, pale purple light, there was the briefest of a figure; Hiccup and Toothless.

 

The same whistle sounded once more and then everything became a blur.

 

The entire battle lasted perhaps ten minutes and by the end of it not a single Goblin was left standing. The Vikings grouped together in the centre of the mess, clustered close as they surveyed the damage. Miraculously, the forest had escaped mostly unscathed. Toothless reached out with one paw to put out a still burning patch of grass.

 

The clearing below the overhang became perfectly silent.

 

The Company ventured down slowly, most of them still in various states of shock. The Vikings barely spared them a glance as they continued to silently assess themselves.

 

Snotlout had a mild burn across his left arm from his dragon’s fire. Fishlegs had a bloody nose that Ruffnut was doing her best to stem. She and Tuffnut had managed to go unscathed, having been mostly drawing attention and distracting. Astrid was bleeding shallowly from a wound low on her leg, but seemed more concerned over the ruined cloth than the torn flesh.

 

“That’s probably going to scar.” Ruffnut supplied helpfully, an amused quirk to her mouth.

 

“So cool.” Tuffnut added clapping a heavy hand onto Fishlegs’ shoulder and giving the other man a shake. “You’re all right.” He told him, and the man nodded. His nose was finally finished.

 

They dragons were unharmed. Thorin eyed the one called Hookfang dubiously and she stared back at him with bored, half lidded eyes.

 

“She’s a Monstrous Nightmare.” Fishlegs told them. They could tell that the man was trying to educate, to be helpful. The name did nothing to endear her to the Company – save for Gandalf, who looked oddly pleased. Thorin made a mental note to attempt to corner the Wizard at a later time.

 

“Was almost killed by one of those, once.” Hiccup was grinning fondly as he dropped into a crouch, metal leg creaking. He examined the cut on his wife’s leg with detached curiosity, absently rolling her pant leg up enough to bind the wound. It was a clear cut, but it would need to be cleaned and soon. Who knew what sort of filth Goblin weapons carried? “That was the night I built that special catapult.”

 

“And caught yourself a Night Fury.” Astrid mused. “We’ve heard it a thousand times, Hicca.”

 

“Yeah well the kids still appreciate it.” There was a note of worry in his voice as he stood once more, leaning heavily on Toothless’ neck to do so.

 

“Everyone will be okay without us until we get home.” Astrid replied in a firm voice that left no room for argument. She was confirming to the others, subtly, that they would be getting home. Thorin hoped for the sake of everyone that it was true. Middle Earth could do with _fewer_ dragons, not more of them.

 

Thorin voiced his concerns over the Goblin-wounds, and how they’d need to be cleaned before infection spread.

 

Hiccup laughed. “That’s all we need, is to have to take your leg too.” He told his wife; his own missing leg was clearly an old wound then, if he was at the point where he could mock it. “If we make our way back to your camp, we can clean up at the stream while you pack your gear. If that’s alright with you.” He added. It was clear that while he was used to _giving_ orders, he was just as used to _taking_ them.

 

“That is acceptable. Our Wizard and our burglar will accompany you.” _Watch you_.

 

Astrid’s eyes darkened. Hiccup’s hand hovered at her elbow, not quite touching. “Trust is earned.” He reminded, quiet enough that it was almost unheard. He moved away from her when Stormfly took a place at her other side. “Come on Toothless. Let’s get going.”

 

He needed the dragons help to get back up the hill and the image of it left a bitter, dark taste in Thorin’s mouth.

 

OoOoO

 

Ori couldn’t help but stare. He’d been trying desperately for the last two hours – they had been traveling for three – to pull his attention away from the golden haired woman. It was impossible. Every time he finally managed to drag his attention to Bilbo, or Fili and Kili, who were trudging alongside him, she’d do something else.

 

Like laugh.

 

Her voice had a low, rough quality that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. She sounded like the old bar maids in Men’s establishment; she sounded like smoke, and rich thick drink that burned on the way down. Like what he imagined sex felt like when he had the time and privacy to think about it.

 

Her helmet had four horns just as she had four braids; her clothes were dark, worn brown leather and she wore pants under her skirt. Her boots were lined heavily with fur and the cloak she had tossed carelessly over the back of her dragon was blood red. The shirt she wore was similar to the bodice Women in dingy pubs appeared keen on, showing off a deep line of cleavage that had heat stirring low in his belly. The single fang he’d noticed earlier –dragon, maybe? – tickled at the top of her breasts, swinging with every step although he couldn’t see it from his current angle.

 

There were sleek bands of black curling around both arms, and when he’d first seen them he’d thought they were some sort of bracelet. After two hours of inspection, he’d realized that they were inkings. He wondered if she had any more.

 

Her gloves came up past the elbow – her arms were mostly bare, and she was seemingly unaware of the bite in the wind – and didn’t cover a single finger. They were closed between the pointer and middle finger, making a sharp triangle across the back of her hand.

 

“She doesn’t even have a beard.” Kili muttered to him, low enough that only their little group could hear. Ori grunted in response, although Bilbo looked curious.

 

“It’s customary then, for Dwarven women to have beards?” He asked.

 

Ori was both grateful and irritated for his inability to turn up a good discussion. Together with the princes he quietly explained to their Hobbit the details of Dwarven customs and rituals. The one’s that weren’t private, anyway. In return Bilbo explained to him about Hobbit’s, and delved into detail about their thick curly foot hair. So lost in conversation as they were, no one noticed when Fishlegs dropped back from his place beside Snotlout to clamber along beside them.

 

Until he spoke, that is. “Your Wizard, um, Gandalf I think – he mentioned something about – ponies?” The blond seemed utterly lost as he fretted over the small ax he had in his hands, eyes everywhere but on them.

 

“Yes. We need to procure transportation before we continue on our quest.” Bilbo explained patiently, casting Ori a confused look.

 

“Yes, I ah, I gathered that much it’s just – well. That is to say.” He paused before taking a deep breath. “What is a pony?”

 

“Well it’s like a horse, only smaller.” Bilbo smiled, glad to have the issue cleared up.

 

“What’s a horse?”

 

Or not.

 

“You know one of those – they’re big? And they have hoofs. They’re used for riding on, to help you get from one place to another quicker. They’re good for carrying things, too. And plowing.”

 

“We use yaks for plowing.” Fishlegs interrupted, brow furrowed. “You can’t really ride a yak.”

 

“What’s a yak?” Ori asked.

 

Fishlegs removed the helmet to scratch at his head. It was apparent that their individual cultures were _entirely_ different. “Well...it’s big, and it has horns. Really shaggy fur, nice and thick for the winter.” He tried.

 

They continued the discussion as they ambled on along the path, none of the five noticing the odd looks the rest of their ragtag group was sending to them. Eventually, it was Ruffnut who took it upon herself to intervene. She dropped away from her brother and dragon, giving Astrid a friendly hip-bump as she quite literally walked backwards. She stopped only when Fishlegs dropped a hand to the small of her back, keeping her from walking into anybody.

 

“What are you on about now?” She asked, keeping her voice low as well so as to not be overheard.

 

“Ponies and yaks.” He replied instantly, dropping his hand when she started to walk normally once more. “They have these...four legged creatures that they ride on to get from place to place.” He shrugged. “I guess ponies are their dragons.”

 

Kili bristled. “No. Ponies are _ponies_. We’d never be so foolish as to trust a dragon with our safety.” He was practically spitting the words.

 

“What do you have against dragons? _One_ dragon made a mistake, and what? You’re going to write them all off as bad? Haven’t one of your – what are they? Ponies? Haven’t one of your ponies ever done something like bite or – Why are you all looking at me like that?” Ruffnut crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed.

 

“Ponies do not bite or, or set fire to things! They’re completely docile. They kick sometimes, but I don’t think even if a pony wanted to it could cause all that much damage. I mean, maybe a broken bone or two, but nothing like the destruction that dragons can bring around. Surely they don’t destroy buildings, at least.” Fili hissed out, trying not to be amused with the mental image of an army of ponies marching riderless to war.

 

They’d stopped in the middle of the road to argue; ahead of them, Thorin and Gandalf had called the rest of the party to a halt. They were being watched although none of the five were aware of it.

 

“Neither do dragons!” Ruffnut shouted.

 

“At least not anymore. But, um, guys, I really don’t think-“Fishlegs was interrupted by Ruffnut’s hand colliding with his face, shoving him out of her way as she rounded on the three Dwarves and single Hobbit.

 

“Ruff!” Astrid called. She and Hiccup had been only a pace behind Thorin and Gandalf, dragons on either side of them as Bifur and Dwalin took a spot directly behind them – boxing them in. She stepped around the bald, heavily tattooed Dwarf to continue. “Now isn’t the time.”

 

“How is now –“

 

“Ruff.”

 

The women eyed each other for a long moment before Ruffnut pursed her lips and stalked off to take a stand beside her brother once more, conversation entirely forgotten.

 

Astrid huffed out a sigh of relief and Thorin, too exhausted to even _ask_ pushed the group into motion once more.

 

Their not so little group stayed quiet the rest of the walk and Ori, now with nothing left to distract himself, settled once more into watching the sway of Ruffnut’s braids as she trudged along the path ahead of him.

 

OoOoO

 

It had taken hours and many pretty words to get them all into Beorn’s house. The great bear-man had snarled at the sight of dragons, distracted only by Gandalf’s assurance that they were harmless (something he wanted to believe) and that they would not harm his animals (something he hoped was _true_.) Hiccup had assured the giant that he would ensure his dragons caused no harm to anything residing in Beorn’s lands.

 

What really won him over, though, was the appearance of one Bilbo Baggins and the tiniest Terrible Terror; small enough to fit in Beorn’s palm, the pink crested dragon had cooed and crowed under the man’s attention. It was only after he’d contented himself with petting the small creature that the rest of their party had been allowed entrance into his home.

 

They filled their aching stomachs on rich mead and bread caked with honey. The Vikings ate very little which came as a surprise, and they didn’t know _what_ Beorn had given the dragons to eat, but they all seemed content enough to laze about.

 

“That was delicious.” Hiccup sighed out when he’d eaten his fill, leaning back to survey the table.

 

Tuffnut snorted. “Anything’s better than Astrid’s cooki – _ow_.” He yowled and rubbed at his calf, although didn’t turn his glare to the blond woman he’d been complaining about.

 

“There is _nothing_ wrong with my cooking. Right Hiccup?”

 

The man’s eyes widened and he nearly choked on his drink. “I – no. No, your cooking is fantastic. The best. It’s my favorite.” He rushed over his words, stumbling to assure her even as he mopped spilled drink from his shirt.

 

Dori cast Nori a long, narrow-eyed look when his middle brother stifled a laugh behind a tightly clenched fist.

 

Nori’s eyes sparkled in amusement. “Looks like we got more in common than we thought.” He offered, grinning even as Dori subtly jabbed a spreading knife full of jam in his direction. Hiccup cast him a confused look but the star-haired man decided not to expand on that particular thought when the knife ventured dangerously close to his thigh.

 

When they finally settled in for the night there was a clear divide amongst them. Gandalf, who had taken it upon himself to act as a buffer between the Company and Strangers of all sorts, had left shortly after depositing them at Beorn’s. The Dwarrow and Hobbit took up the right side of the large room – a space in the barn, where they would find comfort in using hay for beds – and the Vikings with their dragons on the left.

 

Above them, the creature known as Toothless prowled amongst the rafters. An owl gave a startled hoot but settled quickly as the dark scaled beast continued without sparing it so much as a second glance. Stormfly was soon to follow but it was clear to all that the blue-gold dragon truly intended to sleep, tucking his head beneath a wing like one of the great colorful birds from the far East.

 

“They like shiny things.” Hiccup said eventually, speaking more to himself than anyone else. Still, Thorin’s attention had been caught and he focused it solely on the slimmer man, aware that Dwalin was doing much the same. “Our dragons never came for shiny things but we don’t have – well, not treasure. What’s the point of pretty things when there are people to feed?” He flicked his eyes to the exiled King of Erebor. “And the Red Death never left her home.” He smiled wryly. “Not until my dad made her, anyway. Stubborn man.” The unspoken _just like you_ was very clear.

 

“Shiny things?” Thorin repeated back to him, unsure of whether he should be flattered or offended.

 

“Just seems like the only thing our dragons have in common. Our guys only did night raids so they could _feed_. And they never ate much themselves. It all went to the Red Death – like she had some sort of mind control over them.” Absently, he tilted his helmet until the flicker of their small fire caught it the right way. A glitter of light danced on the hay covered ground, and one of the Terrors – who the Company had realized were nameless, for they had no masters – clambered down off of Snotlout’s shoulder to dart after it.

 

Thorin watched carefully as clawed feet trampled across the ground, trying to catch something that wasn’t tangible, would forever be out of reach. With effort he dragged his gaze away from the creature. It didn’t look like a dragon at all, hardly larger than the rain-soaked kitten he could remember Fili and Kili dragging home, years ago. It was more like a rat, really, something he could trample underfoot like a pest. “I would hardly call that small beast’s affliction to bright lights the same as Smaug’s obsession with _gold_ , Master Hiccup.” He drawled, brow arched. Dwalin snorted in amusement beside him.

 

Hiccup hummed and pulled his bad leg into a bent position so he could drape his arms across his knee. He was smiling as though he held a very important secret. “Sometimes even the smallest, most insignificant things can surprise you.” He offered.

 

Thorin pointedly did not look to Bilbo, although he heard their Hobbit choke on his pipe-smoke.

 

“They’re one of the most accurate shots out of all the dragons. Toothless is pretty good, but nothing beats a Terror.” Hiccup shrugged. He looked so _at ease_ that it put the others on edge. “Not that they really use it to their advantage. Like to fight with each other more than anything.” As if to prove his point, yet another of the tiny dragons dropped to the ground, launching at its companion with a furious hissing shriek. They took to squabbling amongst each other, nipping and spitting smoke. No fire made an appearance for which the Company was grateful. “What I’m getting at, though, is that it doesn’t make any sense to _me_ for a dragon of that size to be so obsessed with ‘riches’. Once I got to know Toothless and started dragon taming I realized pretty fast they were very much like us Vikings. They want food, water, shelter...If your dragon hasn’t left your mountain in years and nothing is bringing it food – how is it even alive?”

 

“I think this only reiterates the fact that our dragons are not in any way similar, Master Hiccup.” Balin interjected quietly, before Thorin could call the man an idiot. “I don’t think your taming will work on Smaug, but we’re grateful for any help you can offer to us.” He gave Thorin a pointed look there, before letting his eyes fall shut once more. “Things are different everywhere you go, lad. This won’t be any exception.”

 

Bilbo cleared his throat as he put the pipe out, lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, I do believe that’s enough for one night.” He declared, patting his shirt down as he settled more comfortably into his spot. “You heard Gandalf earlier; we’re to stay inside for the night. Might as well make the most of it, I say!” He rolled over, giving his back to the room, and promptly dragged his raggedy blanket over himself.

 

Everybody moved around their designated spaces until they were all prepared for bed. They fell into restless sleep listening to quiet growls in the distance, each one of them wondering if their man-bear host was prowling the grounds, or if something more dangerous lurked just outside their door.

 

OoOoO

 

When they woke in the morning and returned to their host’s house to seek out breakfast, they weren’t disappointed with the spread of food. As usual, the Vikings ate little in comparison to the Company, but no one commented on it – the meal was tense as it was. There was no sign of Beorn or Gandalf and the quiet growls that had carried on till sunrise had had everyone sleeping fitfully.

 

There hadn’t been an attack though, and they had heeded the Wizard’s warning of staying indoors. Still, it was disconcerting to be so alone, not knowing what they were to do with themselves.

 

Surprisingly, it was Oin who seemed to make a decision for them. When he had finished eating he’d gestured sharply at Astrid, eyes narrowed and mouth pursed. “You. Come on, then. Best get to checking on that wound; make sure you cleaned it right and proper. Up we go!”

 

There was no threat of Goblins during the day and they couldn’t move onwards without Gandalf’s direction – they’d been pushed so far off their intended path. Eventually they all ventured outside to the vast farmlands that Beorn called home. Astrid seemed surprisingly grateful as she set herself on a log chair, rolling her pants up to allow Oin access to the wound.

 

Their old healer did was he did best and Thorin left him to it, Dwalin an ever steady presence at his shoulder.

 

Food was delivered regularly throughout the day by Beorn’s strange animals but Thorin couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, shake the feeling that something was _wrong_. He knew though that they had been through a great deal in a short amount of time, resigning himself to silence as he kept a careful eye on everybody. They deserved the chance to relax and eat their fill even if only for a day and Gandalf would be back, he always came back. With that thought he leaned further backwards, allowing his chin to rest on his chest as Dwalin rumbled beside him, pointless little observations that helped to soothe his frazzled nerves.

 

He refused to acknowledge how Ori had begun scribbling furiously in his notebook, one of those... _Terrors_ settled at his feet like a small dog to its master.

 

It wasn’t until night began to fall that the Big People they knew returned, and they retired once more to the indoors. Beorn was silent as Gandalf explained the gathering of bears, about how there had been both Wargs and Goblins on the prowl the night prior.

 

“Those growls then –“ Hiccup hedged, voice laced with worry. Unconsciously he shifted closer to his wife.

 

“They were my people.” Beorn said, brow drawn down into a furious scowl. His eyes were focused firmly out the window. “We will not let these foul creatures take over, not here.” He rumbled, nodding his head. “I have to go again. Tomorrow at first light you will leave; I have given Gandalf directions to a path that will take you to Mirkwood – once you reach the path, I ask that you send my ponies along home. I hope they aid you.” He gave Bilbo a pat, muttering about how he’d miss his little bunny friend, much to everyone’s confusion before he was out the door. Not five moments later a vicious roaring bellow filled the night time air.

 

“You’d all better get off to bed.” The Wizard informed them gravely.


	3. Where the Sun Won't Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is shorter but there’s a fair bit I wanted to put into this section, and I felt trying to put it all in one chapter was too much. I’ll be posting the next part next Wednesday of course. Thank you all so much for sticking with this story! I’ll see you next week <3 As always, my tumblr name is also erikaehm if you want to chat over there!

Chapter Two

_Where the Sun Won’t Shine_

 

Beorn had been kind enough to strap provisions to their ponies. He’d given them food and bows and arrows, all things that would be needed on the next leg of their travel, and Thorin regretted that they’d not seen the man-bear again so he could properly thank him. Still, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse – pony? – In the mouth. At daylight they began to move.

 

It was Balin who quietly pointed out that Beorn had not provided ponies for their Viking companions, something Thorin had already noted. Apparently he had filled the dragons saddle bags, though, and the Vikings didn’t seem at all put out by not being offered rides. If he really thought about it, he would notice that they actually seemed _intimidated_ by the ponies, which was ridiculous. Still, once the dragons were mounted they kept pace effortlessly and after an hour of travel Thorin stopped worrying so much, letting the thought of dragons eating their steeds flee from his mind. It wouldn’t do any good to have his judgement clouded by such small matters.

 

On the road they passed by stakes in the ground baring Goblin heads as well as thick, musty Warg pelts and skulls hanging from posts and branches. It was a warning, they knew; tread here at your own risk. Thorin was particularly enraptured with a black pelt they passed, eyeing it with an amused look of approval on his face. It was a waste of course, to leave it hanging in the wind, but Beorn’s kills meant Beorn’s pelts so he left it be, no matter how he thought it would make a nice lining for a coat.

 

It didn’t take them long to cross the gate of Beorn’s land. The ponies all halted at the start of a great road that would lead them on to the once Greenwood, falling still beneath their riders. Thorin wished for a moment that they could travel further upon horseback but stamped it down furiously as he dismounted. His careful hands set to working the packs off the ponies and from the corner of his eye he caught the rest of his Company doing the same.

 

All except Gandalf of course, who had ridden a horse that was stamping lightly at the ground, eager to get moving once more. Their eyes met over the back of Thorin’s saddle and he huffed out a soft breath of agitation, cursing the unpredictable nature of Wizards. “Gandalf?” He offered finally, when it became apparent that their Wizard wouldn’t be the first to speak – and curse his patience, too.

 

“I’m afraid I have other business to attend.” The Wizard replied loftily, shifting his gaze over to Bilbo. The Hobbit froze midway through dragging a pack from his pony, eyes darting between Thorin and Gandalf. He said nothing. “I will leave you with this: do not stray from the path, my friends, or you may find your journey shortened considerably. There are things in this wood that even I don’t understand. Ignorance here will not be considered bliss.” He glanced away from the group finally, staring out at a horizon Thorin was certain only Gandalf could see. “They will have expected you to turn to the Southern path, taking the North will grant you a small measure of safety.” He nodded once, finality as he gripped the reins and nudged his horse into turning round. “Be safe.” He called as a final farewell.

 

“Gandalf...” Bilbo trailed off, not bothering to finish the thought as the Wizard began to move away. He pressed his lips to a thin line and shared a glance with Balin, before finishing the process of shouldering his pack. He offered a quiet ‘thank you’ to the pony he’d been riding. Thorin watched, confused, as the four legged creature dipped its head in a nod and sauntered back towards the gate. It stopped there to toss a look at its companions, and he shook his head to clear it, ushering the rest of the Company to hurry as well.

 

Throughout it all their Viking comrades had remained oddly quiet.

 

“Thorin, maybe we can help carry the bags?” Hiccup asked when the last of the flickering pony tails disappeared into Beorn’s lands once more. He was standing close to Thorin, eyes searching his face – he took a second to note that Hiccup was taller than him, by an inch or so.

 

“No.”

 

“But –“

 

“We will carry our own weight, Master Haddock.” The use of his family name had Hiccup grimacing in distaste, a spark of irritation shining in his eyes. He raised both brows at Thorin and let out an irritated sigh through his nose. Thorin knew just what it was that Hiccup offered, though; he wished to allow Thorin’s Company to lay their packs on the backs of heartless dragons. He would not allow it.

 

“You’re going to wear yourself thin.” Hiccup scolded, suddenly. Thorin jerked his head in surprise, narrowing his glance at the redhead. The Viking didn’t seem the least bit put out by the expression, squaring his shoulders in the face of the Dwarf kings anger. “But suit yourself.” His voice rose to address the entire Company. “If any of you decide to have any sense at all, you know where I’ll be.” He jerked a thumb towards his dragon before twisting on his bad leg and stalking off.

 

Yes, Thorin could most definitely see leadership in him then, even if it was a foolhardy, boneheaded sort of way. He bit back a snarl at having his intelligence question, and grit his teeth against the sharp wave of anger. Insolent, arrogant little _brat_ , with the type of blind bravery found in youth. As he shouldered a bag and began heading into the darkness that hung like a toxic blanket across the dying branches of the Mirkwood, he wondered to himself if that’s what Fili would be like, should he inherit the throne before his time; for as much as Thorin wanted to deny it, he could remember being a hotheaded young warrior with no experience under his belt, his people to feed, and a million different things to prove.

 

And Bilbo, well, he just wondered if Thorin was aware that his own damn stubbornness echoed in their young Viking King.

 

OoOoO

 

The paths were large enough for the Dwarrow to stand shoulder to shoulder, which they did. The Vikings and Bilbo took a similar stance in the middle of their group, and the dragons fanned out ahead of them. Hiccup had been sure that they’d alert them to any immediate danger. Thorin was, as always, doubtful about it but he bit his tongue – if nothing else the hard, leather-like bodies of the dragons helped break away underbrush, effectively clearing overgrown roads for them to walk across. He didn’t bother to worry about being tracked.

 

He’d seen with his own eyes the proof that Goblins, Orcs and Wargs had banned together in the hunt. No amount of trying to cover their trail would prevent them from being down, and it would be time consuming as well. No it was much easier to try and put distance behind them. Once they were through the Mirkwood it would be harder for their enemy to find a visible trail, anyway. For now distance was the only hope they had – and a small one at that.

 

A Terror warbled feebly into the darkness, drawing the attention of all. Their pace didn’t slow but they began glancing around, trying to catch sight of what had set the small creature off. There was nothing telling in the trees however, and Bifur growled out a quiet curse. All of their nerves were more or less shot, and having false alarms would prove to be taxing if they happened too often.

 

Only, the Terror didn’t seem at all deterred from its worry as it slid from Meatlug’s saddle – where it had previously been napping – and made a beeline for Bifur. The warrior turned toy maker hesitated for the briefest moment before he forced his legs to work again, once more careening him forward.

 

If Thorin were to put a name to the look in the gold colored eyes of the little monster, he would call it amusement. Yet it was so small that no matter what Hiccup claimed, he couldn’t think of it as a threat; so when the Terror snapped its wings out and took flight he paid it as much mind as one might a particularly boring house fly.

 

That was to say, he ignored it until it landed on Bifur’s shoulder. The Terror was purple-tinged on the markings along its back, most of its body green and the underbelly a warm yellow. The eyes were fever-bright and dull, the claws sharp as they sank into the leather and metal adorning Bifur’s shoulder. The greying Dwarf _did_ freeze that time, his two young cousins doing the same only a few feet ahead of him. One by one the entire Company plus Vikings followed suit. Tension cracked in the air, thick enough it could almost be tasted.

 

Thorin inhaled slowly through his nose as his mind whirled, coming up with ways to _‘politely’_ tell Hiccup to take control of his beasts when the Terror warbled again, this time directly beside Bifur’s ear. It was staring intently and Bifur, seemingly unable to resist, turned his attention in the same direction. A string of Khuzdul followed shortly after and it seemed that in the face of acknowledgement, everything finally _appeared_.

 

There were eyes blinking at them from the cover of dark trees; dozens and dozens eyes glinted yet not a single branch shuffled, indicating life. All at once the wood seemed smothering, almost consuming in its darkness. Thorin snarled at them to keep moving and no one bothered to argue with him.

 

Bifur didn’t remove the dragon.

 

Silent and aware of the ever watchful presence of the trees they marched onwards and onwards. It wasn’t until Thorin was uncertain of their direction but certain that his feet were worn to almost bleeding that he called for a halt. In an alcove of trees they made up their beds on dried out grass, past brown and turned almost black with the rot of the woods. An undercurrent of anxiety flickered throughout all of them, and he was displeased to note that the dragons carried it amongst themselves as well. Toothless’ gaze, which was far too intelligent for a beast that fancied itself a noble steed, stared endlessly outwards as he tried to decipher the threat.

 

Apparently, an hour after camp had been set up; the dragon decided there was no threat. He settled his great leathery body behind his master and the wife after burning a spot for himself on the ground. He curled his bulk around them, offering them a place to lean themselves to rest and drifted off into sleep almost immediately. Or so Thorin thought.

 

Hiccup was more in tune with his dragon, who doubled as his best friend. He kept a careful eye on the tail fins that twitched in agitation against the ground and tossed Fishlegs a meaningful look. The blond nodded and without being asked joined Bofur for first watch.

 

They slept fitfully in rotation for hours and when they were all once more ready to get back on the road not a single one of them would be able to tell you whether it was day or night. The loss of the sun so completely was staggering; Thorin poured endlessly over the map with both Balin and Bilbo, concerned.  With at least the stars or sun to guide them, their direction would be clear. Without either it was impossible to tell if the way they were going was the way they had come, and helpless confusion coupled with frustration gnawed at Thorin’s gut. He left the direction choice to Balin, trusting his advisor would not lead him astray.

 

It was well after lunch, still moving through the gloom, before Hiccup approached him. He kept his voice low, aware of the eyes that still tracked their movements. “I know you don’t like them, but they can get above this.” He gestured upwards to the ill looking foliage. “Let Toothless and I go up.”

 

“It might be impossible for you to find us again.” Thorin pointed out, tiredly. “And if something else is watching – no. It’s too dangerous. It could draw unnecessary attention to our route.”

 

“If we keep going on like this Thorin –“

 

“Gandalf was clear in his instruction. We will pass through the former Greenwood as swiftly as possible and we _will not_ stray from the path. Heed the Wizard’s warning. I’ve learned that doing so is often in favor of my livelihood.” He added wryly, thinking of the advice he’d shrugged off in the past and the advice that he had tried to ignore, as well. No it was best to do as Gandalf had said. “Promise me you will not stray from the path. If you do I will not be held responsible for what happens to you or your people.”

 

Never having been one for doing as he was told, Hiccup still took the words to heart. He cast a look Astrid’s way and then settled once more in the centre of the group, focusing instead on Toothless’ crimson artificial tailfin, his only beacon in the gloom.

 

OoOoO

 

They lost track of time. No one knew if they’d been traveling for two days or two weeks and they took rest whenever it became apparent that they couldn’t move any further. Their food had been rationed to the best of their abilities but it still dwindled and the threat of the lurking eyes kept them from sending hunting parties into the woods in search of more. Their water was running dangerously low and their collective morale had drooped to almost nothing, hearts heavy enough in their chests that they were almost in their boots.

 

The tentative friendship Ruffnut and Ori had formed had kept them amused for a while but as exhaustion and weariness overwhelmed them all, even that small slice of happiness faded. He could understand why they called it Mirkwood – and he still had no idea whether it was day or night, his internal clock system all twisted around on itself. It felt as though they would be doomed to walk the woods for the rest of time, while Smaug slept merrily in their halls of gold and jewels.

 

Reprieve came unexpectedly and suddenly in the form of a small gurgling river. Bilbo wondered aloud at it, pointing out that either Beorn or Gandalf had mentioned _something_ but their thirst was so great that pushed it from their minds. Their path ended where the stream began, and the small boat docked there would be big enough to get them all across.

 

“We can take our fill of water and a break for rest when we cross.” Thorin ordered to them all as he set about preparing the boat. “Hiccup. You may use your dragons to cross. Stay as close as you can, and do not stray from the path on the other side.”

 

The scaled beasts made contented noises at the thought of flight and the Vikings all seemed more relaxed to finally be in the air, even if it would only be for but five moments. He waited until the Vikings were airborne before releasing the boat to the waters, nodding gratefully at Dwalin when his friend took up rowing without having to be asked.

 

The stream which had looked peaceful from the bank was anything but, further out. The boat rocked furiously from side to side, helpless against the power of the water. Balin bellowed for them to grab hold of something and keep clinging tight, to not let themselves lose their balance. It was no surprise when Bombur, the clumsiest of the Dwarrow, lost his footing on the algae-slick deck.

 

Bofur cried out wordlessly, horrified, as he lunged for his brother just a second too late. There was a loud splash that reverberated through the following silence and then Bifur was releasing his stronghold on the railing, catching his cousin by the back of his jacket and heaving him away from his fallen brother. Bilbo had begun shouting _not to touch the water, do not touch the water, that’s what they said!_ And Thorin ached at the thought that their Company was one Dwarf short.

 

A brilliant flash of purple light streaked across the water. Fili cried out a warning to the dragon and rider _not to touch_ but it went unheeded. They watched, holding their breaths and still trying to get the boat under control as Toothless sank from the sky feet first, claws curling under and downwards. They sank into the layers of clothing Bombur’s floating body wore and with a mighty grunt, Toothless had lifted the Dwarf from the water and twisted back once more towards shore where his comrades sat resting.

 

Adrenaline pumping for the first time since their Goblin fight, the Company worked double time to get their boat to shore.

 

“No, no. He can’t be dead, don’t let him be _dead_ , Bifur let _go_!” Bofur was wild with worry, flailing one arm at his cousin’s head. Bifur took it in stride, a steady stream of soothing Khuzdul falling from his mouth as he helped Bofur exit the ship safely, and sent him on the way to his brother.

 

“He’s okay. He’s okay, Bofur – he’s breathing. He’s okay.” It was Astrid who rushed to soothe the worried Viking, reaching a hand out to his shoulder. “He’s just – unconscious. Oin?”

 

The old healer was already bustling towards them, face blank as he set about his task. He worked at Bombur as a few others paced back and forth on their path. The water was tempting, being so close, and already dry throats began to ache in earnest with their thirst.

 

Eventually Oin moved away from his examination. “He’s alive, but Astrid was right. He’s unconscious and not responding; I don’t know when he’ll awake.” He shook his head and leveled Thorin with a look. “We don’t have time to wait for him to wake up before moving onwards. We’ll have to carry him.”

 

“If you can lift him Meatlug can carry him.” Fishlegs interjected. When all eyes turned to him he flushed lightly. “I mean – it will be easier for her than for you. Let her do it, she’s used to it and she likes having something to do.”

 

“We don’t have time to argue.” Balin said softly to Thorin.

 

Decided, Thorin turned to Dori. “Help us lift him onto the dragon. We must get moving now.”

 

That night – day? Morning? Afternoon? No one knew – a flickering of light amongst the branches drew their attention. Thorin squared his jaw as he tracked the movement in the distance, nostrils flaring in irritation. He took one step forward and heard Hiccup’s soft, amused noise off to his left.

 

“What happened to staying on the path?” The Viking asked voice edged with a hint of animosity. IIt wasn’t directed at Thorin, though. The stress was getting to them all and the Vikings were itching for _something_ to happen just as much as the Dwarrow.

 

“Damn the path.” Thorin growled back. Gandalf wasn’t there to save Bombur and he’d sent them into this rotten, horrific place. “I’m tired of doing nothing.”

 

Hiccup’s leg creaked lightly as he braced his weight on it, one hand falling to the sword at his hip. “It’s your call.”

 

And so Thorin called it.


	4. Into the Woods

_Chapter Three_

_Into the Woods_

Thorin breached the clearing first although he held back his usual battle cry as he burst from the trees, Hiccup hot on his heels. He could hear Dwalin’s snarl from somewhere behind him and he stumbled, foot catching on a root – he was being careless, thanks to the sight in front of them. _Elves_. There were _Elves_ sitting in a half circle around a fire, their pale eyes and hair gleaming in the light as they sang low, haunting tunes and feasted on lord knows what. His throat clicked as he tried to swallow his surprise.

 

One of the Elves, a male from what he could tell, glanced up at him coolly. Their eyes met for the briefest moment and in the next second, the lights went out completely. Thorin finally shouted wordlessly as he spun around to face his group of people.

 

Without the firelight, the once bright clearing was nothing more than a sea of overwhelming darkness. At least on the path the trees had not been quite so thick and Thorin took a moment to tell himself _stupid, stupid, stupid_ before he caught sight of two golden, glittering orbs floating in the darkness. He knew without having to be told that they belonged to that damned Toothless – here, in the dark, they were not the comically wide and innocent gaze the dragon normally employed. They were narrowed into dangerous slits. Still they were his only focal point, and he tried to use them to gather his bearings.

 

“Okay, everybody stay calm.” And that was Astrid talking, voice low and urgent. She was close to him, incredibly so, and he grunted as she stepped on his foot. Her hand smacked against his face, and tugged lightly on one of his beard braids. “Thorin?”

 

“Yes. Would you be so kind as to release my beard? Shut _up_ Kili, I can hear you, you know.”

 

Astrid let his braid go, if only to sink her hand around his _belt_ and the indecency of it made his face flush hotly. “Okay. Okay, everybody – calm. Move towards the sound of my voice, hands raised so you can tell when you reach us. Toothless, can you come over here? Your eyes...” She trailed off as someone groped at the top of her head – the hand was massive, calloused, with the faintest scrape of metal to it. “Dwalin?” The warrior grunted and released her in favor of finding purchase on Thorin’s shoulder. “Right then. Come on. The sooner we’re regrouped the better.” It would be safer to find their way back out through the woods if they were together, after all.

 

The dragon’s eyes helped the rest of them find their way, and Thorin knew without being able to see that his nephews had tucked their Burglar safely between them; the quiet, uneasy hum of song from behind the trio informed him that Bofur was bringing up the rear. Good.

 

Meatlug and Fishlegs had stayed behind with the still unconscious body of Bombur. Unwilling to leave them alone, Hiccup had gestured for the majority of dragons to stay behind as well; Toothless, his faithful companion, had ignored the order and slunk after them as they sprung into the clearing. Thorin hated himself for being grateful and hoped desperately that the dragon had gone unseen by those blasted Elves.

 

“Ruffnut?” Ori asked, hesitantly. Somewhere else, Dori growled audibly and Nori let out a sharp snort of amusement.

 

“No. Tuffnut. Ruffnut’s on the other side.”

 

“Right here.” The girl muttered and in the dark her hand found Ori’s, holding him tight. He blinked a few times as his other hand was grasped by Tuffnut, and flushed in the centre of his Thornton sandwich.

 

It didn’t take them long after that to join together in a group, Thorin and Astrid smack dab in the centre of it. Everyone was touching in some way shape or form – Dwalin’s hand still on his shoulder, Astrid still hooked into his belt, and Kili grasping the tail ends of his heavy fur jacket. Hiccup was talking to the dragon, using it to help navigate the group back through the trees. Ocassionaly Toothless would pause to sniff at the air, the flaps on his head vibrating heavily and causing a low flapping noise to sound out. He seemed agitated and Thorin tried not to pay it any mind as they finally, finally got back through the hell hole of a maze and to where Bombur was still laying unconscious on top of Meatlug.

 

They’d thought it was impossible to see on the path but it was still lighter than the woods. Their eyes adjusted quickly and Bofur followed Bifur to check on their kin.

 

Thorin took a moment to take inventory of his Company. The Vikings seemed to be fairing well – but his Dwarves and his Hobbit...his heart clenched uncomfortably when Fili tossed him a tight smile. His nephew’s cheeks were beginning to take on the hollow look of someone who didn’t have quite enough food. The Hobbit’s shirt was practically hanging off of his slim shoulders. Kili’s eyes were starting to develop terrifying bags.

 

Never had he ever allowed his people to get so far into hunger. He’d always worked so _hard_ to make sure everyone was stable and now –

 

Dwalin’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed painfully tight. He turned his head towards his best friend, his brother in arms, and his cousin. The balding, heavily tattooed Dwarf furrowed his brow and shook his head lightly, mouthing at him not to worry. Thorin inhaled deeply through his nose. Dwalin was, unfortunately, right. There was no time to worry about food or what would happen if they didn’t find any soon.

 

For the Mirkwood had once been called Greenwood, and the Elves they had so very long ago called allies had resided there. He’d assumed, seeing the dead woods that the Elven kingdom here had fallen. What happened in that clearing had only served to prove him wrong. There were still Elves hiding amongst the trees, whether they could see them or not.

 

 _Thranduil_ , Thorin thought, and felt his blood boil in his veins with the hot rush of anger that slid through him. The traitor had somehow managed to keep his home – and no doubt the Elves they’d seen in the woods would be rushing off to tell the arse who they’d seen.

 

Elves lived a very long time. There was no doubt in his mind that one or more of the group they’d stumbled onto would have been alive during the fall of Erebor. He pulled his lips into a thin line, watched Dwalin’s matching expression as it told him his friend had arrived at the same conclusion. “We must move faster.” He declared to the group, as loud as he dared even as his mind whispered to him _see, you should have stayed on the path you fool_ in a voice that sounded very similar to a certain grey wizard.

 

No one argued even as Fishlegs helped Bifur and Dori settle Bombur more comfortably across the back of Meatlug. The massive dragon nudged her head against Dori’s chest twice and almost without thinking, his gloved hand rose to pat between her eyes. They shut and a rumbling growl-purr filled the air. Dori, brain catching up to his body, jerked away and returned to his brothers’ sides. Meatlug seemed unbothered by it as she turned and ambled off after Toothless who had begun moving further down the path.

 

Thorin fumed silently at the dragon taking charge of his Company but didn’t bother starting an argument over it.

 

Ruffnut, he noted, had still not let go of Ori’s hand despite her dragon which had draped a head over her shoulder, and the Terrors that scampered after her boot buckles. She dragged Ori onwards and he smiled at the side of her head, goofily.

 

He met Nori’s eyes and raised both his brows when the middle Ri tossed him a playful wink and began to whistle innocently, allowing Dori to tug him off by his beard.

 

Worrying over what would happen if the Elves found them – and the dragons, lord the _dragons_ – Thorin let the ice grip his heart and dutifully, took his place back at the head of the group.

 

OoOoO

 

It happened twice more, the lights. Thorin had voiced his concerns over the Elves to the rest of the Company and the Vikings, who knew of Thranduil from Balin’s retelling of their story. Hiccup had looked particularly upset over the news and quietly forbade his people and pets from venturing off from the group. It was tempting though; the smell of food and the haunting songs that whispered through the underbrush as they forced themselves to trudge along.

 

No one would risk it, however.

 

“What are they doing?” Hiccup asked him one night – day? – As they crouched by a stream. Bilbo had offered to try the water first, with the argument that he was the lightest. If he were to befall the same fate as Bombur, it would be easier to haul him around than say Dwalin, who had been the first to offer. They had sat for what felt like an hour but could have been only five minutes for all that they knew.

 

“Toying with us, I imagine.” Thorin groused as he drank deeply. Bilbo hadn’t had any reaction to it so they were all taking their chances.

 

“It’s working. They show up, we change our path. Thorin I think they’re trying to herd us – we won’t go with them quietly and if they send out a whole party at once, in the dark we’ll have the upper hand. I know this is straining your eyes but Dwarves are accustomed to being in the dark.”

 

“Herding us?”

 

“Like cattle.” Hiccup spat, standing and groaning when his leg creaked ominously. Toothless’ head whipped towards them, flaps pressed flat and eyes narrowed – giving him the appearance of a deadly snake. “I think we need to mix it up a bit. Something just doesn’t feel right.” The threat of the Elves hung heavy over them all, and the gleaming eyes in the trees still had yet to leave.

 

Thorin breathed out heavily “What do you suggest we do?” He stood as well, meeting Hiccup’s surprised gaze and offering a tight lipped nod.

 

“Hey, ‘Legs.”

 

The trio bent their heads together and with the help of Balin and a map, worked out which direction they would take. “If they decide to attack?” The old Dwarf asked at length, not seeming particularly bothered by the idea.

 

“Then we’ll take care of them. We’re fighters, all of us.” Hiccup rolled his eyes and shrugged when Thorin looked pointedly at the Hobbit. “We’ll all do our part.” He added, and moved back towards his group to tell them the plan.

 

The attack came later, although the enemy that fell upon them wasn’t the one they had feared.

 

Bilbo Baggins awoke with a groggy head – was it the water? Surely, not – and stared down at his legs, fully encased in thick white webbing. Half asleep his eyes rolled upwards and watched the spider that was steadily advancing on him.

 

Suddenly the cocoons he’d been eyeing curiously became all the more apparent, the glitter of eyes in the tree tops making his blood run cold. He gulped and fumbled into his pocket and as the spider lunged towards him, he disappeared to nothingness.

 

He managed to roll away despite his legs still being encased in sticky webs – the hand he’d flung out to help catch himself snagged on a jagged rock. Despite the sharp bite of pain and the blood he saw, his heart leapt with hope and he grasped it in one shaking hand to begin hacking away. The spider was twisting round and round looking for her prey and he kept his breathing as quiet as he could, working as fast as was possible. The stone was slippery with his blood and he wondered if they could smell it, if they’d be able to find him through that.

 

His legs were numb when they were finally freed but he couldn’t be bothered to care as he managed to stumble onto his feet, desperately looking around. There was no way he’d ever be able to cut all of the Dwarrow loose, not with the clearing full of spiders – but then he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned slowly to see what was happening.

 

It was a Terror creeping around, belly low to the ground. The eyes were glazed over and it was bleeding sluggishly from wicked puncture wounds on its side and Bilbo bit back a noise of sympathy. It had been bitten by a spider, apparently. Yet it wasn’t dead. That meant there was hope for the rest of the Company, then. He felt a brief pang of annoyance upon realizing that the spiders had even attacked the Terrors before him; was he really that small of a threat, that a cat sized lizard was more dangerous? He pushed the irritation away, telling himself that of course he wasn’t supposed to look dangerous; he was a Hobbit for goodness sake!

 

The Terror trilled a high pitched warbling sound and a great ball of fire burst from its mouth. The spider that had been stalking him when he awoke shrieked in outrage as two of its legs gave beneath it, the rest of its body going up in flames not too long after.

 

A second Terror darted from beneath a jagged rock, spitting sparks as it went.

 

Bilbo realized it was a distraction. The spiders, outraged and concerned, began to descend from the trees. He made himself as small as he could, huddling into the ground as they barreled overtop and past him, hunting the quick footed dragon.

 

When the last one was out of sight he dropped his hand onto the injured Terror’s head. The creature started and snapped at the air, attempting to bite the invisible threat. “Shh.” Bilbo soothed. Its head cocked to the left as it listened, eyes flickering as they tried to spot him. The creature yowled and shook its head, possibly thinking the venom was causing it to hallucinate. He wondered if those dragons brought by the Vikings had an extensive thought process. “It’s me, Bilbo. I need your help my friend.” He scratched it on its side hoping his soothing tone and hands would endear the animal to him. “We must get them down before the spider’s returns. I could climb up there, but it will take me longer than it will take you. Can you help me?”

 

The Terror gave no verbal response. The small wings snapped out and upwards, lifting the multicolored body up off the ground.

 

They started with poor Bombur. As the web holding him in the air was cut halfway through it stretched, and Bilbo mentally thanked anyone who would listen for that. It meant that the descent to the ground was much gentler than simply dropping straight. He pulled Sting from its sheath and worked at carefully slicing the cocoon away from Bombur, peeling back the layers and trying not to grimace at the feel. He told himself that it couldn’t be any worse than crawling around in Gollum’s cave under Goblin City, and that he’d had many a spider in his pantry before. Not that he’d ever look at them the same way. He slipped the ring off when Bombur began to wiggle around, wanting to be more than a disembodied voice if anyone awoke.

 

A terrible, awful roar bellowed out from somewhere deeper into the woods and the scent of smoke filled his nose. He hoped some of the other dragons were alright – he couldn’t see any dragon shaped bodies hanging and they were almost halfway through releasing everybody.

 

A few of the Dwarrow were waking up. Dwalin was the first to rise, weak and stumbling as he moved to help. He had a knife in his belt that proved handy and Bilbo was surprised that he said nothing of the dragon helping them get everybody else down.

 

It took what felt like an age to get everybody down and cut out. Bofur and Bifur were busy crying into Bombur’s ruined clothing; somehow, the large Dwarf was finally _awake_ , which was a relief itself. They still had no idea where the rest of the dragons were, and it was high time that they got on the move.

 

Their bodies, weak from the venom, were hardly able to heft their weapons. Bilbo watched as Dwalin struggled to right his axes on his back, but when the warrior turned to meet his gaze he looked away. It wouldn’t do to let Dwalin know he had seen his weakness; he was a proud Dwarf.

 

Hiccup was flushed red himself, anger pain and embarrassment all warring on his face as he slung an arm around his wife’s shoulders. He could hardly walk the web sticking oddly to his metallic leg, and without his dragon to brace himself against he had to lean on his wife. She seemed unbothered by it, one arm around his waist and the other hand loosely holding onto her sword; her arms drooped though and the tip of the blade was becoming mucked up in the dirt at their feet.

 

Bilbo finally, finally released a breath of relief when every last one of them were on their feet.

 

And just as quickly he inhaled sharply in horror –

 

It didn’t matter where the dragons were anymore, because the spiders were descending once more from the trees, mouths clicking.

 

“If it’s not one thing it’s another.” Thorin croaked. Bilbo agreed as he held Sting in front of himself, praying that he’d be strong enough to help defend them. He was the only one who still had working order of his arms.

 

The Terror dropped from the branches and onto his shoulders still looking glassy but prepared to do battle. _Small but mighty_ , he thought, and when the sparks began he let the smell of smoke soothe his frazzled nerves.

 

He wasn’t strong enough. Spider after spider slid from the trees and Thorin shouted out a hasty _retreat!_ They were losing precious feet that they’d gained the last day or so, every step almost physically painful to take as they stumbled backwards. No one was surprised when they were pushed from the path and into the pitch dark of the woods. Bilbo’s head throbbed painfully as Sting sliced clean through a spider, killing it, and his heel caught on a root. He tumbled backwards into a patch of grass, the Terror clinging at his shirt to avoid being dislodged.

 

The rest of his companions stumbled around him not too long after and he watched with a mixture of awe and terror as the spiders hesitated. Their eyes blinked slowly and the largest of the group crowded forward a few feet – Bofur lifted his pick higher, weary but prepared to strike.

 

There turned out to be no need for it. The spider backed away with a final click of its mouth and the rest of them melded into the shadows after it. Within seconds their little clearing was filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing.

 

Bilbo turned his head from one side to the other. Horrified, he realized just why the spiders had retreated.

 

They had fallen into the edge of one of the Elven campsites they’d been trying to avoid. As he stared a handful of Elves slid from the shadows like ghosts, silent on their feet and glowing just as beautifully, drifting across the clearing in clothes that moved like fog.

 

“Our King requests your presence.” One of them says in common tongue.

 

From the corner of his eye he saw Thorin lift his sword in preparation. There was no time though as more Elves from the woodwork and not for the first time since they’d started their journey, the Company found themselves captive at another’s mercy.

 

Their hands were bound behind their backs although their weapons were not taken yet, even as lengths of cloth were looped around their heads to obstruct their vision. An Elf explained that the location of their kingdom was a secret and that they could not allow them to see.

 

Thorin spat words at them in Khuzdul. He expected to be hit for his insolence but the Elves, ever calm, ignored him.

 

Onwards they were forced to march their fear growing with every step. Bilbo thought they might have had better luck taking the path amongst the Orc’s and Goblin’s instead although he didn’t bother voicing it out loud. The Terror that had helped him had managed to crawl deep into his shirt, curled warm against his belly were the cloth was now loose from rapid weight loss. He could feel it breathing against him, the frantic pace of its heart, and somehow the feel of another body so close to his helped him to relax. The dragon wasn’t quite a friend but it had proven its worth at least in his eyes.

 

“We will be there shortly.” An Elf told them in a crisp tone. “We are but a few moments away. Then you may speak your mind, Dwarf.” Thorin grunted as he was poked lightly in the ribs, at a soft spot in his armour.

 

He listened to the panicked breathing of Ruffnut beside him and made a soothing noise in his throat. A hand brushed his back lightly and he realized the Elf of all people was attempting to soothe _him_. The absurdity of it made him want to laugh –

 

And then he did begin to laugh because a familiar whirring sound split through the air. The hand on his back disappeared as something grabbed the Elf and jerked it bodily away from him. The Elf hollered as it was tossed and the Terror in Bilbo’s shirt clambered out his neck hole, disappearing over his shoulder.

 

His hands were free within seconds and he ripped the blindfold off. He did Ori next, knowing the young Dwarf to be nimble fingered.

 

It was Hookfang who had attacked first and startled, the Elves began to shoot. She set her magnificent body on fire and the arrows did nothing, the metal pinging harmlessly off of her body as the wooden shafts burnt to useless ash. Bilbo noted she’d not caused any lasting damage to the Elves, working more on shoving them away than killing.

 

He caught sight of the proud look on Hiccup’s face and shook his head amazedly, listening as Balin shouted a loud _this way!_

 

The two headed dragon fell upon them next and Bilbo felt Snotlout grabbing his wrist as the dirt path they’d been walking in the woods began filling with green smoke. The Elves made a fuss not knowing what the effects would be; Bilbo knew that it wouldn’t do a thing until the other head began to spit lightening. Still he didn’t want the Elves to know that and he tossed himself after Snotlout.

 

Yet again they were all mostly touching as they stumbled through the fog and off even that path – but Bilbo could see where Balin was leading them; there was a fast moving river through the trees the noise drowned out by the panic of Elves and bellowing of dragons.

 

He curled his hand over the back of the injured Terror that had yet to leave him.

 

“Look!”  Ruffnut wailed and he followed her finger to see what she was so excited over.

 

There were _barrels_ bobbing in the water. The water which was beginning to move more swiftly and he realised with a start that it was a _dam_. He met Thorin’s eyes and nodded once before lunging forward. “You Dwarves get in first!” He ordered and no one argued.

 

He was terrified as he helped get everyone into bobbing, swaying barrels and shoved the lids overtop. He prayed they would be okay as the wooden mechanism holding them in place began to lift. There would be no time to get himself or the Vikings into the barrels as well. He tossed a panicked glance behind him and his heart seized when he saw Hiccup, much closer than he’d anticipated.

 

The Viking was holding a hand out to him, mounted on Toothless’ back. The others had already become airborne.

 

A respectable Baggins of Bag End would have taken his chances with the Elves – but Bilbo was no longer that. He took the calloused palm and heaved himself up behind Hiccup in the saddle, arms tight around the other mans waist and the Terror crushed between them.

 

There was something different about riding a dragon as opposed to an eagle and for the second time in a handful of days Bilbo found himself flying.

 

His fingers brushed over something warm and sleek and he leaned around Hiccup to see what was in his lap. The body of the decoy Terror lay limp across him and his throat felt tight when he realized it wasn’t moving. Hiccup’s hand not clenched on the saddle stroked the scales over and over again.

 

Long before they landed the small body turned cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I’m so sorry the updates are so late. As I said I’ve not abandoned it – I just finished school and have been trying to get a job while planning a huge birthday party and helping a friend with something for a wedding. I’m hoping the next update will be here Wednesday. Thank you all for continuing to read! As always, my tumblr is erikaehm – my ask is open for Hobbit prompts so please feel free to ask over there :x prompts make me happeh.


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